


will you light my candle?

by seekingsquake



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Mob, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Dissociative Episode, Gen, Implied/Referenced Anxiety Disorder, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Murder, Post-Canon, Recreational Drug Use, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-11-30 07:01:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11458464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seekingsquake/pseuds/seekingsquake
Summary: Entries for the 2017 #sciencebrosweek over on Tumblr.Chapter 1: Light (high school/no powers au)Chapter 2: Pending (no powers/alternate timeline au)Chapter 3: Rush (no powers/alternate timeline au)Chapter 4: Pierce (post AoU & CW)Chapter 5: Triumph (no powers au)Chapter 6: Eclipse (mob/mafia au)Chapter 7: Yours (no powers au)





	1. Candle, Mirror

July 10th: Light

#  Candle, Mirror

 

They spend a lot of time together hiding from their fathers. They hide in the front seat of Tony’s car, driving around town and never staying too long parked in one place, lest someone call one of their houses to let anyone know where they are. People think they’re trouble because they cut class and smoke too much, but they don’t burgle or vandalise, they don’t get into fights, they don’t do anything too dangerous.

Besides, it’s not like they  _ need  _ to be at school. Tony can read something once and know it well enough to apply it, and Bruce is always correcting the teachers, albeit only loud enough for Tony to hear him. They’ll pass all the necessary tests to graduate whether they attend class or not, and Howard will pay for Tony to get into any school he wants anyway, so.

Who gives a fuck?

Today, Tony drives them to the next town over, where no one will know them, and they won’t have to worry. Bruce is already baked as fuck, slumped over in the passenger seat, his eyes closed and his head leaning against the window. He’s snoring a little, and there’s the last half of a Subway sandwich in his lap, and his body is loose and limp. He only ever sleeps okay after he’s body stoned. It’s the only time he doesn’t have nightmares, or his anxiety doesn’t keep him awake for days on end. 

There’s some hippy-dippy shit playing out of the stereo, something Bruce popped into the CD drive promptly before he passed out, and Tony wants to change it but doesn’t want Bruce to be disoriented when he wakes up. 

It wasn’t a good morning. From the time he woke up until the time he peeled out of the driveway, too fast and too recklessly, Howard had been on Tony’s case about attendance and his attitude, and how little respect he shows for authority. It’s all bullshit because none of it matters anyway; he’s going to inherit Stark Industries no matter what, even if only in name because his father would rather chop off his own dick than sell the company outside of the family. And Howard will send him to the best schools to get the best degrees so that everything looks all good and solid, and no one will say anything about it because everyone is sucking Stark Industries’ dick to get weapons and funding and grants and all that fun stuff. 

And then the bullshit morning turned worse when he pulled up to Bruce’s place, and Bruce was waiting for him outside with a new black eye to match the old one, a split lip, and hands shaking so bad that Tony had to secure his seat belt for him. 

Out of all the things Tony wants to do in his life, with all the money and resources and brainpower he’s got at his disposal, there’s only one thing that he can’t do. He can’t make Brian Banner disappear. But he wants to, so badly. Some days, when Bruce is too beat up to do anything other than get high and sleep it off, when he can’t speak, and he can’t stand to keep his eyes open, when he misses his mom so much it’s like an open wound, it’s all Tony can think about.

Right now, it’s all Tony can think about.

“Can we get milkshakes?”

He glances over at Bruce, who has turned in his seat so that he’s angled more towards Tony. His eyes are still closed, but his breathing has lightened up a little. Usually, he sleeps a bit longer. “‘Course. You wanna go in somewhere or do drive thru?”

Bruce pauses, licks his lips, winces. “People are gonna look at me and think I’m getting the shit kicked out of me.”

Tony snorts. “You  _ are  _ getting the shit kicked out of you.”

Bruce wrinkles his nose but doesn’t deny it. He places his hand over Tony’s on the gear shift, then twines their fingers together. “Let’s do drive thru. Then let’s pull over somewhere, and you can fuck me in the back seat.”

Milkshakes and car sex? Bruce must still be high as balls. “You sure, babe?”

“I just want my brain to fucking stop, you know? But it never does. At least when you’re fucking me, it’s only babbling about you.”

Sometimes Bruce says shit that makes Tony’s chest feel like it’s going to cave right the fuck in.

They get milkshakes from McDonald’s, but by the time Tony finds them a nice, secluded rest stop overlooking a lake, Bruce has fallen back asleep. Tony doesn’t mind. He gets out of the car and sits on the hood, lights up a smoke, and just watches the water while Bruce naps. When Bruce wakes up again, he rolls down all the windows, cranks the stereo loud, and then joins Tony sitting out on the hood. He leans heavily against Tony’s side, snags the cigarette and takes a long drag before passing it back, and then stares out long and hard at the lake.

“You good?” Tony asks quietly, wrapping his arm around Bruce but being careful not to squeeze him. He doesn’t know the full extent of Bruce’s injuries yet, and Brian likes to go for the ribs with his boots if he can get Bruce down to the floor. 

Bruce says, “Sometimes I think about killing myself because, like, it feels like it’s never gonna fucking end, you know? But then you come pick me up, and it’s like the light at the end of the tunnel. I don’t know what I’m gonna do when you go away for school.”

“You’re gonna come with me, obviously.”

When Bruce laughs, it’s quiet. “And do what? Slouch around your dorm room all day while you’re in class?”

Tony shrugs. “You would get in if you applied.”

“I don’t want to be paying off student loans for the rest of my life. MIT? There’s no way I could afford it. I don’t know. I don’t know what I want to do, anyway.”

“You could still come with me,” Tony insists. “We don’t have to live on campus. You could get a job somewhere doing whatever, and I’ll go to class, and my mom will send me money, and we could live together and not worry about anything. I don’t want to leave you here with him. I want you with me.”

“You’re gonna do such big, great things,” Bruce murmurs, his eyes dark and heavy with exhaustion, fear, a love so big Tony drowns in it. “What if I go with you, and I don’t fit into your life anymore? What if you--”

Tony kisses him, hard, rough, until he tastes blood on his tongue from where Brian hit Bruce earlier. “Shut up,” he says seriously. “You’re always gonna fit with me. You’re my light too, dumbass, don’t you know? The second I think I’m gonna go nuts from all the shit that comes with being a Stark, you look at me, and suddenly I’m just Tony. You’re the only reason I haven’t fucking lost it. If you don’t want to come with me, you don’t have to, but don’t stay behind just because you think I’m gonna outgrow you or something stupid like that. I’m not.”

Bruce looks at him for a moment, then kind of grins. “Okay. I love you too. You wanna get burgers tonight?”

Tony leans back against the windshield, dragging Bruce back with him. “I could always go for burgers.” When Bruce curls up against him, the tight, collapsed feeling in his chest loosens. The sun is warm on his skin. The breeze off the lake is cool. Their fathers are a good three hours drive away. The future is spread out before them, closer and closer each day. It isn’t always going to feel hellish like this.

When Bruce looks at him, all that bullshit gets pushed to the back of his mind. The morning was pretty fucking bad. But their afternoons are always pretty damn alright.

 

_ There are two ways of spreading light: _

_ to be the candle _

_ or the mirror that reflects it _

_ -Edith Wharton _


	2. Candle, Moth

July 11th: Pending  
Candle, Moth

“I’m sorry, it says that your card’s been declined. Sometimes the machine’s a little finicky though; we could try again?”

Tony stares at the credit terminal, jaw clenched tight. “Yeah, let’s.” The cashier punches the price of his purchase into the terminal on her side of the counter again, and then the terminal on his side of the counter says insert card across the screen. He does, and with one hand punches in his pin while the other curls into a nervous fist in the pocket of his hoodie. Processing, processing, receiving, card declined.

The beeping noise the machine makes is loud, and Tony flinches. There’s a line forming behind him. All he wants is a pack of smokes and coffee. He knows that he doesn’t have any cash, and he knows that his checkings account will be inaccessible to him right now. His ears are burning. “Um. Take the smokes off, and we’ll try just the coffee?” He knows it isn’t going to work, but he needs something. 

“I’ve got it,” a voice behind him says, and then two energy drinks, an individual bag of sour cream and onion chips, a pack of sour Skittles, and an ice cream sandwich are put onto the counter beside Tony’s coffee and cigarettes. “Throw in two of the five dollar crossword scratch cards and a Province if you’ve got one.”

The cashier does as told and starts ringing everything up again, and Tony stares at the guy who is now standing beside him. “You don’t have to--”

“It’s all good,” the guy murmurs. His gaze flickers over Tony quickly, and his eyes are a dark brown, earthy and soft. “You look like you need it.”

Tony left home a week ago. His funds were cut off after three days. He’s been crashing at Rhodey’s, but he can’t bring himself to ask for money, and he can’t bring himself to go back home. He won’t ask for forgiveness, and he won’t apologise. He’s not sorry. He knows he looks haggard. “Thanks, man.”

Spending forty bucks at a 7-11 seems a little nuts when Tony’s only really bought slushies here with Rhodey and Pepper before, but the guy doesn’t even blink. They end up trying to exit the store at the same time, and the guy holds the door for him as Tony steps outside. “Thanks again, so much. I really appreciate this.”

“No worries,” he answers casually, unwrapping his ice cream sandwich under the glow of the fluorescent light. “I spend more than that for just me some nights if I’m stoned.”

Tony laughs as he lights up a cigarette. He doesn’t hesitate to extend the pack in invitation, but the guy hesitates to accept. Eventually, he just shakes his head and takes a bite of his ice cream. Tony shrugs and lights up. “I’m--”

“Tony Stark,” the guy finishes for him, quietly. “I know. Your plight of wayward youth has been all over the news.”

“And your name is...?”

“Bruce.”

It’s almost two in the morning. Tony hasn’t actually slept for a good three or so days. He’s taken to roaming the streets after Rhodey’s gone to bed, just to keep himself busy. He stays in more residential areas to avoid paparazzi and such, and even when he ducks into convenience stores and gas stations, he’s managed to avoid being detected. This is the first time someone’s called him out on his identity. But this Bruce guy, he doesn’t look like he’s been sleeping much either, and there’s something a lot easier about spending time with a stranger when everything hurts than spending time with someone who knows you. Rhodey is Tony’s best friend in the whole world. Rhodey is always there and has always supported him. But there’s pain in Rhodey’s eyes sometimes when Tony struggles, and it’s hard. Bruce’s eyes don’t hurt. Bruce’s eyes are a little easier to deal with. “What are you up to so late at night, Bruce?”

“Just livin’ my life, man,” Bruce mumbles, cookie crumbs caught in the dusting of dark facial hair around his mouth. 

“Mind if I tag along for a little while?”

Bruce eyes him warily. “You’re not worried I’ll kidnap you for ransom or murder you or something?”

Tony laughs. “Well, I wasn’t! But seriously, right now would be a pretty bad time to try to use me to extort money from my folks, so...”

Tony is about two steps away from being disowned, but he’s always liked toeing the line and pushing his old man’s buttons, so. It’s whatever.

Bruce studies him for a moment longer, brown eyes soft but critical all at once, before shrugging. “If you want. I don’t mind the company. But I gotta head back to my place and check on my roommate, so I hope you don’t mind taking a drive?”

It would be almost effortless to kidnap or murder Tony right now, to be honest, but Bruce looks about an inch shorter and scrawny as all hell. Tony’s had self-defense classes, and he knows how to use a gun, and kidnapping murders always have guns in their glove compartments, so he’s pretty sure he’ll be okay. He’s pretty sure he could take Bruce in a fight. 

They hop into an old, beat up Jeep, and there’s some ‘90’s era soft rock playing over the stereo. Bruce doesn’t talk much as they drive out to a neighbourhood more on the outskirts of town, and when he pulls up in front of a run down, three storey apartment building he sighs. “It’s not much compared to what you’re used to, I’m sure,” he murmurs, clearly embarrassed.

“I really don’t give a shit,” Tony assures. “My dad hates me, so even if what I’m used to looks pretty... it isn’t.”

Bruce looks at him for a long second, then sighs again. “Alright. Come on up, then.”

It’s a walk-up, and Bruce lives on the third floor. The stairwell is poorly lit, and the walls are grey with dirt and age. The carpet is dingy, the hand railing is loose, and there are no security cameras. Bruce’s actual apartment has the same sort of vibe; tidy, but like it will never be truly clean. Bruce dumps his bag of snacks on the kitchen counter, then steers Tony to a small sofa. “Make yourself comfortable. There’s beer, soda, juice, and I think some wine in the fridge. Cable if you want TV. I’ll be just a sec.” Then he takes off towards the back of the apartment and slips quietly into a room that had been closed.

Tony tries not to listen to the soft sound of voices, but he doesn’t turn the TV on. He clearly recognises the soft rumble of Bruce’s voice, and there’s the higher pitched murmur of what Tony guesses is a woman. It goes on for a good ten or so minutes, and then Bruce is back, shutting the room’s door gently. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. Is that your girlfriend?”

Bruce pauses before dragging his fingers through his hair. It’s dark and curly, and he’s so handsome it makes Tony’s throat feel a little dry. “It’s complicated.” He sits beside Tony and grabs the remote, flicking the TV on to some late night game show. Tony drinks his coffee, and Bruce eats his Skittles, and maybe it should be awkward, but it isn’t. 

It’s been three days since he last slept. He should go back to Rhodey’s. He should at least text Rhodey to let him know that everything’s okay. But the couch is pretty comfy, and the coffee is weak as fuck, and the volume of the TV is low. He’s struggling to keep his eyes open. “Tony? You okay?” Bruce’s voice sounds far away. When did he get so tired? He tries to say something, but he knows no words make it out. The world tilts a little, and then his head is pillowed on something a little too sturdy to be entirely comfortable, and he can feel something being draped over his body. “It’s okay,” Bruce murmurs. “Get some sleep.”

He thinks he hears some shuffling throughout the room, and he’s pretty sure he hears the apartment door open and shut. He tries to stay awake long enough to hear Bruce come back, but the next time he opens his eyes there’s weak sunlight spreading across the floor. The door to the back room is still shut, and he is still alone.


	3. Candle, Melting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hard warning for attempted suicide and subsequent conversations. Please be gentle with yourselves while reading.

July 12th: Rush

#  Candle, Melting

 

_ 911, what’s your emergency? _

_ I need an ambulance to 2202 Spring Street, please. _

_ Okay. What seems to be the problem? _

_ My boyfriend, um. I think my boyfriend tried to kill himself. He’s unconscious, and there’s an empty bottle of sleeping pills on the floor. He’s, um. He’s in the bathtub and I can’t... Fuck, I can’t get him out of the water, please. Please, I can’t tell if he’s breathing. _

_ Okay, ma’am, paramedics are on the way right now. Can you find a pulse? _

_ I-- I can’t. I can’t! But if it’s really weak I might not be able to, right? He might still be... I mean, they’ll be able to resuscitate him? Oh my God. Bruce, you fucker, oh my God. _

_ Ma’am, take a deep breath. The ambulance is only a few minutes out. Just stay calm. _

_ Should I... should I drain the tub? Should I drain the tub? It’ll be easier for them to get him out of the tub if there’s no water right? What do I do? What do I do? _

_ Ma’am, please just keep breathing, okay? Take a couple deep breaths with me, like this. [Audible deep inhale, a pause, a long exhale. Repeat.] Can you do that with me? Ma’am-- What’s your name? _

_ Betty. _

_ Okay, Betty. Help is almost there. Can you take a deep breath with me? _

 

It’s been quiet ever since he got out of the hospital. They took off to Betty’s uncle’s cabin as soon as he was released. There’s no cell service this far up the mountain. There’s a small lake around back, thick forest for miles in every direction, and a dirt road off the main road with wooden signs nailed to trees, pointing the way to the Ross Retreat.

Betty thought the fresh air would be good for him. That the quiet and the stillness would help him relax. Ever since they moved to the city from their little town in Ohio, Bruce has been twitchy. They can’t go back to Ohio, but. They can still get away from people. Without his phone pinging every hour with texts from work and acquaintances he doesn’t particularly care about asking him to go places that he’d rather not, he has been breathing a little easier. But.

Being alone out in the woods may be quiet in comparison to the city, but the muted noise only serves to amplify the empty space between all the things they should say to each other but haven’t.

Betty hasn’t been able to look him in the eye since he woke up in that hospital bed. He can’t bring himself to ask her if she’s okay. He hasn’t thanked her for saving his life.

He can’t tell yet whether or not he’s grateful.

A red Jeep creeps up the road through the trees, and Bruce lights up a cigarette as he watches it approach. They’d only told a handful of people where they were going, and only one of them would have bothered to trek out after them. Tony hops out of the vehicle and looks around like he’s never seen trees before, then picks his way up the path as if he’s afraid to step in something gross. Bruce knows that Tony isn’t afraid to get a little dirty, but usually, that’s in the garage or the workshop. Not... outside. “Hey, stranger.”

Tony peers at Bruce over the top of his pink-tinted sunglasses before breaking out into a grin. “Big guy! You're out in the wilderness for four days, and you already look like a mountain man, holy fuck!” He bounds up the porch steps and claps Bruce firmly on the back before tugging him into a tight hug. “The beard and the tan look good on you, dude!”

Bruce huffs a sound that could pass as a chuckle maybe, and takes a long drag off his smoke. “You didn’t have to come all the way out here, Tone. Betty’s with me. I’m all good.”

“Eh, I’m the boss, the office won’t miss me. And it’s not like it’s far anyway, just... high up.” Tony tilts his head up and squints into the canopy, and Bruce keeps looking out at the road. The silence between them isn’t entirely comfortable, but it’s not quite awkward either. They linger on the porch like that, caught in some sort of mood purgatory until Tony’s twitchy nature gets the better of him. “So? What’ve you crazy kids been doing out here in the wilderness?”

“Oh, you know. I’ve been sitting out on the lake, meditating and shit. Getting stoned under the stars.”

“If that’s therapy nowadays, sign me up,” Tony laughs, nudging Bruce’s shoulder with his own. 

Bruce’s lips twitch briefly into a small smile. It is pretty nice. If only it were making him feel any better. “They’ve got me on these pills now. They make me feel sick, so I don’t want to eat unless I’m toasted.”

“What, like Prozac?”

“I can’t stop fucking shaking. Been drinking everything with straws so I don’t spill all over myself. Honestly, I feel more fucked up than I did last week.”

Tony’s whole body twitches. “You tried to kill yourself last week, Bruce.”

Bruce smokes his cigarette quietly for a moment, then scratches at the scruff growing in dark under his chin. “I know.”

They’ve known each other for a good ten years, worked together in the labs at SI for nearly four. They’ve had non-conversations about every important thing under the sun. But they’ve never really talked, or not talked, about this. “Your body just needs to adjust to the meds. You’ll be okay.” What can either of them say? What can Betty say?

Bruce’s depression has been the only consistent thing in his life since was very young. He doesn’t want to live like this anymore, but. He’s afraid to see it go. What will be left of him, after? “What if I don’t know how to be?”

The thing about Tony is that he doesn’t believe in stagnancy. His brain is always moving forward, and he’s always been focused on progress. He doesn’t let anything stop him, and he demands that same dogged persistence of all of the people in his inner circle. “You’ll adapt.”

“Tony--”

“Look. You’re thirty. Your life has been shit from day fucking one, okay? I know. I know all about your parents, and your time in foster care, and your aunt. I know it’s been hard, and there are still wounds you haven’t healed. But you’ve been dealing with this shit for thirty years! If you really wanted to be dead, you would have done it by now and--”

“I tried!” Bruce shouts, tired. So, so tired. “I fucking tried, okay? I’m thirty fucking years old! I don’t want to live like this for another thirty goddamn years. What if this is it, huh? What if this is as good as it gets for me?”

The cabin door opens behind them, and Betty pokes her head out. There are dark circles under her eyes, and she takes in the scene on the porch with a quiet weariness. “Hey Tony,” she murmurs. “Is everything okay out here?”

“We’re fine,” Bruce tells her, just as quietly.

After a moment where both of them just look at him, Tony says, “Yeah everything’s cool. We’re just talking.”

She doesn’t say anything before ducking back inside, but the air feels heavier now than it did before. 

Bruce leans heavily against the porch railing and lights up another cigarette. Tony fiddles with his watch band before slumping down onto the porch swing. “Why are you in such a rush to count yourself out?”

“Why are you in such a rush to count me  _ in? _ ”

Neither of them has answers.


	4. Candle, Burn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is currently post-canon, and also post-Ragnarok.

July 13th: Pierce

#  Candle, Burn

 

Neither of them is really into teasing. Tony has always been inherently impatient, and Bruce is skin-hungry and starved for affection. Their dynamic as a couple has always been fast-paced and heavy on physical contact and sexual intimacy. They don’t talk about stolen, desperate touches under cover of conference tables during meetings, or the needy meeting of lips in craters in the aftermath of destruction before the rest of the team can find them. They don’t talk about the fact that they won’t put a name to the storm cultivating between them, or the fact that their track records with things like romance and commitment are abysmal. They don’t talk about all of the things that they don’t talk about, even though the weight of everything left unsaid weighs almost crushingly on the both of them. 

And then everything with Ultron went down, and Bruce disappeared. And Thor never came back. And then there was the Accords.

The rest of the “team” scattered. Steve took his merry band of self-righteous assholes and somehow managed to disappear. Clint took his family deep underground. Natasha ghosted. And Tony was left with the rubble of The Avengers, a group of people he had been resistant to be a part of from the very beginning. His chest was all fucky, his heart so screwed that he needed the Arc Reactor back to make sure everything stayed pumping and beating they way that it should. He looked after Rhodey, and Rhodey looked after him, and Pepper flew back in from Cali to look after both of them, sick with worry and furious but relieved as all get out. 

It would have been better if that had been the end of everything, really. Tony could deal with his life if the only other people he could trust were Rhodey and Pep, surrounded but robots and AI and using suits to take to the sky whenever he started to feel like he’d be trapped forever by the confines of the ground. But in the middle of a thunderstorm, in the middle of the night, Friday set off all the alarms to get the three people left in Stark Tower out of bed.

“I’m detecting two heat signatures on the roof, Boss.”

Thor always knew the best way to make a dramatic entrance. There was a flash of lightning that lit everything long enough only to highlight the god’s silhouette, and then the front window of the main room shattered, and Thor stepped into the room cradling a limp form in his arms. “My friend,” he rasped, too soft and too rough, “I did not know where else we would be welcome.”

*

“How did he even get onto Sakaar in the first place?”

“I do not know,” Thor admits. He sits heavily, as if he’s trying to sink into the furniture. “We did not speak of much, in the little time that he was himself. And you know how articulate and forthcoming our friend Hulk is. Men of little words, the both of them.”

“Typical,” Tony mutters.

“But you have not told me of what brought about the dissolution of our team,” Thor prods gently.

Tony leans forward, his elbows on his knees and his head dropped in thought. Finally, he says, “Irreconcilable differences.”

Thor hums. “May I observe the fact that that seems to be ‘typical’ of yourself as well?”

“You may not.”

*

The first time they find themselves alone together isn’t for another two weeks. They meet awkwardly and accidentally in the kitchen, after fifteen days of avoidance. Tony needs coffee after thirty hours of toiling around in the workshop, and Bruce is putting himself together something that-- 

_ “What is that?” _

_ “Helps me sleep.” _

_ “You’re not sleeping?” _

_ “I don’t often. Too many...” Bruce waves his hand absently near his temple and shrugs slightly. Tony understands that feeling all too well. _

\--smells like a last resort. They meet eyes across the floor, and Tony wants to gag. He feels like he’s being choked. He can feel the phantom sensation of Bruce’s hands on him, hot and heavy on his hip, curled into desperate fists in the collar of his shirt, warm and safe up and down the curve of his spine. He’s in a cold sweat, aching, and he wants to either reach out or run, but he can’t do either. 

Bruce’s eyes scan him, and then his gaze slides to the floor and off to the right, and the noose around Tony’s neck has eased up, but he immediately misses it. “Can’t sleep?”

“My circadian rhythm is fucked,” Bruce replies. His voice is rough with disuse. “Was out of this plane too long. Time passes differently out there.”

“Thor told me a bit about some of the crazy shit you guys got up to. Sounds pretty... hardcore. You want to--”

“I want to talk about what happened to me probably about as much as you want to talk about what happened with the others. Let’s just do ourselves a favour and not.”

Pepper complains that Tony doesn’t communicate well, but at least he  _ tries.  _ Trying to talk to Bruce is like trying to share ideas with a brick wall. Maybe that’s why, before all the shit went down, they would only share equations with each other and fuck around. But something’s shifted in Tony since the showdown with Captain Asshole and Robomurderer in Siberia. He’s been trying to be more explicitly open with the few people left in his life, and in turn, they’ve been more open with him, and the newfound transparency is such a relief. It only makes sense that he’d want that with Bruce too.

Bruce says, “I’ll be out of here soon enough, okay? Can we just. I don’t know. Forget it.”

“Forget what?”

When Bruce looks back at him, his eyes are dark and tired. His face is drawn, and he looks like he’s at the end of his rope and trying to time when he lets himself drop. Tony can hardly look at him. 

*

It always ends up like this, somehow. The sex was impatient and explosive and  _ so good.  _ Bruce’s mouth, fuck. But the aftermath...

The only time Bruce’s walls come down even a little is in the hour or so between orgasm and naptime. They lay together on the bed, their legs tangled but their upper bodies only close enough for their arms to brush. Bruce’s eyes are closed, but his fingers are tapping thoughtful rhythms into his skin, so Tony knows all he has to do is wait him out. When Bruce speaks, he’s quiet with melancholy. “If I let myself love you, we’re not going to survive it.”

“Why are you so sure?” Tony asks, too afraid to look at Bruce’s face.

“You know why my mother’s dead, Tony.”

“It wasn’t because she--”

“Because she loved me. Yeah. And Betty has literally gone into hiding because being in love with me fucked everything else in her life up too badly.”

“Bruce, her father’s a maniac and that’s--”

“And now you work with Ross. And I know it’s more complicated than that, the Ross thing, but. He’s going to ask you to turn me in, as soon as he finds out that you’ve had contact with me.” Bruce’s hand inches across the space between them until his fingers find Tony’s, clenched in the sheets. His palm covers Tony’s fist and squeezes. “You’re going to have to make a choice. If you do what’s best for you in that moment, I’m fucked. But if you try to protect me, you’re fucked. Just like every other person I’ve ever loved. And I can’t, Tony. I can’t do it again, I can’t take it. I can’t be the reason that...”

“Bruce--”

“So we’re just gonna forget it, okay? As soon as I’ve got my shit together I’m gonna go, and I’m going to prevent you from tracking me, and it’ll be like I never loved you at all.”

Tony’s jaw clenches. “Even though you do?” Bruce doesn’t say anything else, but. He doesn’t really have to. Tony will fill the silence. “You’re breaking my heart, big guy.”

Bruce squeezes his hand again, but the walls are back up. He continues to say nothing.


	5. Candle, Flicker

July 14th: Triumph

#  Candle, Flicker

 

“I’m floating away.” Bruce’s eyes are glassy and unfocused, and his voice has a distant, dreamy sort of quality to it that has alarm bells going off in Tony’s head. 

“Babe, stay with me okay?”

Bruce hums. “I see my hands moving, but I can’t feel them.”

They’ve talked about this before. Sometimes Tony has nightmares and flashbacks and panic attacks. Sometimes Bruce dissociates pretty hard. These are things that happen. It’s okay. Well. It’s not, but they deal. “Let’s play a game, okay?” Tony keeps his voice gentle as to not knock Bruce into overstimulation. “I’ll start. We’ll do animals, okay? Anteater.”

Bruce’s eyelashes flutter. They’re sitting together on the couch. They had been watching a movie, but Tony had thought Bruce had dozed off. He was wrong. He carefully snakes an arm around Bruce’s shoulder to provide a grounding touch, and Bruce leans heavy into him. “Barn owl.”

“Caterpillar.” Tony can’t always pinpoint what it is that triggers Bruce, and after the episode is over Bruce often has a difficult time remembering. But if they catch it early, it’s becoming easier and easier to pull Bruce back. 

It takes Bruce a little bit to think of an animal and get his mouth to do what he wants. Tony lets his fingers tangle loosely into the curls at the base of Bruce’s skull. He’s learned patience since they’ve started to need each other like this. “Dormouse.”

“Echidna.” Bruce loves echidnas. Bruce sinks a little more against Tony’s body, and it feels like a little victory.

“Finnish Spitz.” Bruce also loves dogs, so it’s a good sign to see Bruce picking animals he likes when he’s entirely himself. 

“Gentoo Penguin. Have you seen those? Adorable.”

When Bruce presses his face against Tony’s neck, he lets himself squeeze Bruce a little more. “You smell like mint. I don’t like this body wash as much as the other one. Hedgehog.”

“It did smell better, but my skin didn’t like it. I’ll try something else though. Impala.”

“Jellyfish.”

“Koala.”

“Lemming.”

“Meerkat.”

Bruce’s voice is sounding more engaged now, and his thoughts aren’t taking as long to formulate. He says, “Nurse shark,” and he breathes in deep against Tony’s skin. Bruce once told him that he had dissociative episodes when he was a kid that would last for days and that no one ever noticed or said anything about it. He gets scared, even now, that he’ll lose time, that someone else will be piloting his body and the people closest to him won’t be able to tell the difference. But he doesn’t have to worry about that, not anymore. Not when Tony is so in tune with him.

“Octopus.” He leans back, stretching out on the couch and pulling Bruce with him, cradling him against his chest. 

“Platypus.” Bruce curls his fingers into the collar of Tony’s t-shirt. “Thank you for grounding me. Thought I was gonna go away for a second, there.”

Some days are hard. There’s always something. But every time they manage to pull each other out of a bad brain moment, it feels like a win. Maybe not a big win, but a win nonetheless. “Any time, Big Guy. Uh. Quail. We say quail every fucking time, I swear to God.”

Bruce manages a light chuckle. “What else is there for q, though?” He sounds a little dreamy again, but it’s definitely due to being tired now. “River Dolphin.”

“Sloth.” Come to think of it, Tony could really use a nap, too. Last night was an awake night for him.

“Tasmanian devil.” Bruce’s body slowly starts to feel loose and pliant. It’s good. He’s warm like this, and seeking contact that Tony is more than happy to provide.

“Umbrellabird.”

A long pause before Bruce murmurs, “Vulture.”

  
Tony hmms softly before deciding on wallaby. Bruce mumbles something that sounds a little like x-ray tetra, and Tony has to think long and hard before he comes up with Yak. His eyes are heavy. He waits for a moment before tilting his head to glance at Bruce, and then he yawns. Naptime. He’s probably going to have dreams about zoos now, but that’s perfectly okay. Zoos won’t wake him up in a cold sweat, and even if for some reason they  _ do,  _ Bruce will be right there. Little victories. 


	6. Candle, Snuff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for, ah, murder *insert knife emoji here*

July 15th: Eclipse

#  Candle, Snuff

 

_ Turn around, bright eyes _

_ Every now and then I fall apart _

 

“We don’t have to do this.”

He says that, but it’s not really the truth. They both know it. “No. You don’t have to do this with me. But I have to.” If she won’t leave him, Bruce is going to make sure that Brian never puts his hands on her again. “I have to do something, now that I can.”

See, the police don’t care. Every time she’s tried to get help, to get away, they don’t keep her safe, and he finds her, and things get worse. It doesn’t matter that she’s the sheriff's sister-in-law when the sheriff doesn’t give a shit. She has no family that isn’t Brian’s family, she has no friends, she has nowhere to go. When Bruce was a kid, he couldn’t do anything. But he’s an adult now. He’s got a PhD under his belt, and a girlfriend back home that he only ever touches with love, and a best friend who knows how bad shit is and has the connections to make what they’re about to do disappear. 

He’s also got twenty-five years worth of rage and trauma and fear.

He’s going to kill his father.

“You don’t have to come with me, Tony.”

“I’m not letting you do this alone.”

See, Tony remembers how sometimes, when Howard was drunk and pissed off and being an utter fucking asshole, he would smack Maria across the face. It used to make Tony blind with fury. He can’t imagine watching his mother get worse than that every day. Maria left Howard when Tony was fifteen. It wasn’t soon enough, but she managed it. Rebecca is still trapped. So yeah, maybe Tony doesn’t physically have to be here. He could just make sure the people he needed would be around, and that everything that needed to be paid would be paid, and that Bruce would be completely protected in the aftermath. But Tony knows Bruce, and Tony knows himself. Even if he hadn’t come, he would have shown up part way through. He likes watching people get what’s coming to them. 

“Okay. Then... Let’s do this.”

They get out of the car, and they walk up the block. They make it up the drive, up the front porch steps, and they ring the bell. After a moment, Rebecca opens the door and peers at them through the screen, then she flings the screen open and pulls Bruce into a fierce hug. She’s only maybe five foot three, and her hair is a mass of thick, dark curls, and even under the way her body folds and her eyes pinch, Tony can tell that she’s young. Not even fifty yet. 

“You didn’t tell me you were coming! Oh, I would have baked up a pie or something. Come in, Baby Boy. And who’s your friend?”

“Ma, this is Tony. Tony, this is my mother.”

She looks like she’ll break if Tony so much as breathes on her. She clasps his hand firmly anyway. “Good afternoon, Mrs Banner.”

She laughs, and it reminds Tony of Bruce. It’s soft, and she ducks her head a little to the side as if trying to catch the sound in the curve of her shoulder. “Please, call me Rebecca. Bruce has told me all about you; I feel like you’re my own son! I’m sorry we haven’t met before.”

“I’m sorry we surprised you,” Tony tells her, letting her hold on to him. “My manners are usually better than this, but we were just driving through, and I know Bruce hasn’t seen you in a while.” It’s all a big lie, but that’s okay. She pats his cheek.

“Let me make up some sandwiches for you boys. Come in, come in!” She herds them into the kitchen. There’s a bowl of fruit on the kitchen table, and she pulls a pitcher of lemonade out of the fridge. Actual lemon wedges are floating inside, and the colour is a pale, murky white as opposed to the yellow of powdered mixes. Bruce acts totally normal, accepting a glass with a murmured thanks and attempting to help her with lunch but letting her fuss over him even so. Tony tries to ignore the fact that she’s got a patterned silk scarf tied artfully around her throat even though it’s nearly ninety degrees. 

“So, where’s dad at?”

“Well, it  _ is  _ Sunday,” Rebecca chides gently. “Why, did you want to see him?”

“I did, actually.”

Tony watches Rebecca’s hands freeze, her fingers white around the handle of the knife she’s using to slice cheese. She has to know. She has to know what they’ve come here to do. She knows Bruce so well and is familiar with violent men. She can’t not know.

Bruce has told her all about Tony. She has to know that he’s a Stark. She has to know what Starks are infamous for.

Slowly, she continues to slice the cheese. “Oh. Well. That’s nice, Darling. You haven’t spoken with your father in so long. He should be home around six or so, for supper. Will you be joining us?”

“I was hoping I could speak to him alone,” Bruce says. He snags an apple out of the fruit bowl and tosses it casually into the air before catching it and cracking it in half. “Maybe you and Tony could go out and get to know each other a little.”

Rebecca glances at Bruce out of the corner of her eye, and Tony levels him with a stare. That wasn’t the plan. Bruce looks back at him as he bites down into one of the apple halves. His eyes are dark, and Tony’s smart. He can see this for what it is. Tony nods ever so slightly, and Bruce relaxes just a bit. Rebecca drops some alfalfa sprouts onto the sandwich but doesn’t say anything else.

*

“Wait here,” Tony says to her. “I’ll be right back.”

“Is Bruce coming with us?” she asks quietly.

“Not right now, but I promise he’ll be okay. Rebecca, I promise.”

She studies him for a moment before turning to gaze out the window, and then Tony gets out of the car. Dinner was uncomfortable because Tony knew that she knew, but he couldn’t give her confirmation. He couldn’t decipher how she felt. But she never once tried to stop it from happening, so. He lets himself into the house. “Bruce?”

There’s the sound of water running down the hall, and Tony follows it to where the door to the powder room is cracked open. Bruce is scrubbing at his hands, and his face is wet with tears. He’s covered in blood, and so is everything else. Tony glances back down the hall, his eyes on the wall, and tracks a blood streak. Bruce gags then coughs, then applies more soap. “I don’t regret it,” he chokes out.

“I know,” Tony murmurs.

“Are your guys coming?”

“Yeah. They’ll take care of everything. They’ll get you out of here no sweat, and I’ll take your mom with me back to New York. We’ll meet you at home. It’ll be okay.”

Bruce nods, then gags again, then sobs. Tony leans against him and turns off the tap. “Shh. Shh, Bruce. It’s okay. It’s okay now. Everything’s over.”

He’s ready for it when Bruce turns and buries his face in Tony’s chest. Tony’s got a spare set of clothes in the car. He was prepared to be a little more hands on, but. He wraps his arms around Bruce’s shoulders and holds him while he cries. “I’m scared,” Bruce whispers. “Because I don’t regret it. I don’t feel bad. What does that say about me?”

Tony’s got a lot of ideas about  _ that,  _ but the main one is this: “That you gave him what he deserved. You packed your mom a bag before things got messy, yeah?” Bruce nods, then indicates at the hall closet. Tony opens it to find a duffle bag neatly packed. He slings it over his shoulder. “Okay. A woman named Natasha is going to show up with some people, and they're going to fix everything. Just do what they tell you to and call me when you're on your way out. Are you going to be okay alone for a little bit?”

“Yeah.” Bruce sniffles, then pinches the bridge of his nose. Bloody water drips down his forearm, and there's splatter on his face. Tony reaches out and rubs at a fleck of it by Bruce’s eye. It's dry. “Yeah, I'll be okay.”

*

They’ve been on the road for maybe four or so hours before Rebecca says anything. “It’s finally over?”

“Yeah,” Tony murmurs, glancing at her briefly before turning his attention back to the road. “I told Bruce we could do it with lawyers, but. Men like your husband don’t just stop until someone’s stopped them, so.”

“Mmm.”

“Does that bother you?”

She doesn’t look at him. She reclines her seat a little and adjusts the flow of the air conditioning, and then she slowly, carefully reaches up and unties her scarf. The silk flows between her fingers and slips into her lap, and Tony takes a measured breath. Her whole neck is covered in bands of bruises, all varying in colour. Pale yellows, vibrant purples, and a couple spots so dark they almost look black. She reaches up and wraps her hand around her throat, carefully laying slender fingers on top of the darkest bruises. “I always knew it would be one of us,” she says quietly. “Always figured it’d be me.” She rolls down her window and then picks up her scarf. She sticks her arm out of the car and lets the wind pull at the fabric before releasing it. Tony watches it fly away in the rear-view mirror until it disappears.

*

Bruce turns up three days later, with Natasha and Clint slinking in after him like dual shadows. “How’d it go?” Tony asks, and Clint grins all sharp edges.

“How’d what go?” Nat asks, and Tony nods. Good. 

Rebecca comes into the main room from the patio, and when she sees Bruce, she immediately reaches for him with open arms. “My brave boy,” she murmurs as Bruce folds her against his chest. “How are you doing?”

“I’m okay, Ma,” Bruce mumbles. He looks tired, but his shoulders are loose, and his body is still in a way that Tony doesn’t think he’s ever seen before. “How about you?”

“I’m okay, too.”

*

Bruce is smoking alone in the motorcycle garage when Tony finds him. He’s sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, his eyes fixated on a ‘77 Triumph. The garage is large, cavernous, and the smoke from Bruce’s cigarette wafts up like a distress signal. “Hey.”

When Bruce looks at him, his eyes are dark, empty pools of deep brown. He’s got flecks of green in his irises. He’s always been beautiful. “I’m fine, Tony.”

“It’s okay if you’re not though,” Tony tells him as he sinks down to the floor beside him. They sit close enough that their thighs are pressed together. Tony reaches over and snags Bruce’s smoke, taking a long drag before handing it back. “You killed a guy, man. That’s heavy shit.”

“I kept thinking that after the adrenaline wore off, I’d start feeling bad about it, but. I still don’t. It bothers me that I don’t.”

They’ve been friends since Tony’s college days, back when they were both always the youngest and smartest people in the room. It’s a lie to say that Bruce doesn’t have violence within him. But it’s also a lie to say that Bruce is a violent person. He doesn’t even squish spiders that Betty finds in the bathroom at night. As long as Tony’s known him, Bruce has never been in a bar fight or any sort of altercation. He doesn’t ever raise his voice when he and Betty argue. But you don’t grow up the way Bruce did to have marshmallow insides and a spirit that flinches when threatened. “You’re always trying to find a way to make yourself feel guilty about something. And seriously? This doesn’t need to be one of those things. Your dad was a beast. You slayed the dragon. That’s all.”

“But like. If I don’t feel bad about it... does that make me like him?”

Tony laughs. “Did you like killing him?”

Bruce is quiet for a long time. He snuffs his cigarette out on the concrete floor and gnaws on the inside of his cheek before finally replying. “No. I’m satisfied now that he’s dead, and I’m glad I got to be the one to stop him, but. It wasn’t fun or anything.”

“Kay. Because I can guarantee that every time he choked out your mom, or left you locked in your bedroom for days at a time, or snapped the little bones in your or your mom’s wrists, he liked it. You know he liked it. He was gonna kill someone sometime, Bruce. And he was gonna have fun with it. So no, you’re not like him. And I don’t ever want to hear the fucking bullshit out of your mouth ever again, I swear to God.”

Finally, a smile breaks over Bruce’s face. It reminds Tony of an iced over pond snapping down the middle. People drown in those moments, and Tony knows that Bruce is more like a body of water than he would care to admit. Unpredictable, uncontrollable, but so, so beautiful. Betty’s a lucky girl. Bruce leans even more against Tony’s side. He says, “My mom wants us to take her to Coney Island. She wants to go to the--”

“Us?”

“--Aquarium and shit. She’s never been to New York before, so. Yeah, us.”

“That seems like a good mom and son date, why does she want me there?”

Bruce lights up another cigarette and takes a drag, then blows the smoke out in a ring around Tony’s face. “She says that anyone who’s taken care of me is her kid now. You’ve been adopted.”

“Then I guess we gotta take her to Coney Island.” Tony lets his arm drape over Bruce’s shoulder. “And, hey. By the way? You’ve taken care of me just as much. So. There’s that.”

 

_ We’ll never be wrong _

_ Together we can take it to the end of the line _


	7. We Could Light the Candle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is NSFW, just so you're aware because it's not sciencebrosweek until I've thrown some smut in there for good measure.

July 16th: Yours

#  We Could Light the Candle

 

“Fuck, harder, harder, oh my God, ah--” Bruce bites down hard on the pillowcase, one hand braced against the headboard, and the other curled around the pillow. Tony laughs, and his voice is rough. He sounds ruined. He sounds happy. It’s the sexiest thing in the world when Tony laughs. Always, anywhere, but especially here, buried deep in Bruce’s body and pushing as if he’ll never be close enough. He’s got one hand tight on the curve of Bruce’s hip and the other spread wide over Bruce’s clavicle. Bruce likes it like this, where he’s pressed face down into the bed, the only thing keeping him from suffocating being Tony’s hand holding him up just enough.  

“God,” Tony mutters, leaning forward to press his chest against Bruce’s back and nose into his hair. “Fuck, you look so good like this.” Their leverage is a little off kilter now that Tony’s pressing down with more of his weight. “Hold us up, let me see those arms, c’mon.”

Bruce struggles to get both his hands against the headboard, but once he manages it, he braces them there and Tony lets loose, his teeth just barely scraping across Bruce’s shoulder. They never bite or pinch or hit, they don’t like hurting each other, but sometimes the phantom sensation of it is enough to drive Bruce a little nuts. Bruce whines, high pitched and drawn out, and presses back hard.

“You want my hand, baby? Want me to pull you off?”

Tony’s hand is the last thing he wants. He tries to say it, but all he can get out is a garbled noise that could mean pretty much anything before he shudders hard and shakes his head.

“No? You don’t want me to touch you?”

If Bruce moves one of his hands from the headboard, he’s going to face plant down into the pillow. He wouldn’t mind that, but Tony would ease up, and that isn’t what he wants. His jaw falls open as he gasps for breath, and then he somehow manages to warn, “If you move your hand you’re dead.”

Tony laughs again, delighted, then moves his hand just a little, up from Bruce’s collar and a bit more around his throat. He’s not gonna squeeze; they’ve talked about it before, and they’ve tried it, but the reality of the action was more anxiety inducing for the both of them than pleasurable. The threat of it though, the heat of his fingers right there-- they both like that a lot. Then Tony’s thrusts slow to a deep grind, and both his hands tighten just a little. “I know, baby. I know what you want. Slow like this, huh? Wanna come on my cock with my hands only on you to keep you from squirming. Like it when I don’t let you run from how much you like it, hm?” he croons, and his voice is raspy and low.

“Tony,” Bruce pants, eyes closed and body begging for it, “shut the fuck up.” 

Suddenly Tony picks up the pace again, slamming into Bruce with a force that is usually reserved for special occasions and particularly frenzied caffeine highs. He plays Bruce’s body like a well loved, broken in instrument, and Bruce knows exactly when Tony wants him to come because that’s when he  _ does,  _ his arms collapsing, his face crashing down into the bedding, his vision whiting out. They’ve been together for three years, and it never gets any less intense. It’s maybe gotten even more intense, since Tony’s figured out exactly how to make Bruce tick.

Tony’s also gotten the hang of timing their orgasms to be nearly simultaneous. Bruce had thought that shared orgasms were a myth, or at least a fluke, until Tony started actively, successfully pursuing them. Apparently most of the time it just takes, like, practice.

As soon as Bruce can move his body again, he reaches back and frantically grabs at Tony’s thigh. “Wait,” he murmurs, muffled by the pillow. “Wait.” Tony probably can’t hear him, but he understands the clench of Bruce’s fingers.

“I’m right here,” Tony whispers. “It’s okay; I’m right here.” The condom doesn’t feel great around his softening cock, but he doesn’t try to pull out. He waits the handful of minutes until Bruce’s hand drops and his chest heaves from Tony’s weight pressing him down. “You good babe?” Only when Bruce hums an affirmative does he pull away.

 

*

 

It’s been a hot summer. They sit out on the patio with Pepper and Jim, picking at dinner and sipping ciders out of condensation wet bottles. Tony’s got Ari in his lap, and he’s bouncing her gently and letting her play with his fingers as he and Jim discuss restoring one of the cars that are hanging out in the back lot at Jim’s parent’s place.

Ari’s not quite two yet. Her hair is a thick mass of orange-red, rusty coloured curls, and her skin is earthy, dark, but light enough for red freckles across the bridge of her nose to be visible. Her eyes are big and brown, and she is the prettiest baby that Bruce has ever seen. Which is to be expected, since both Jim and Pep are gorgeous, but. Her attention wavers from Tony for just a second, just long enough for her to glance over at him, and he waves at her. She waves back, smiling, and ugh. Bruce adores her.

And then Tony looks down at her, his whole face soft, and something in Bruce twists so hard it hurts. He loves Tony  _ so much.  _ And Tony’s changed since becoming an uncle; he’s become a little easier around the edges, a little more thoughtful, a little more engaged with the world around him. Ari reaches up and presses her baby fist against Tony’s mouth, and Tony curls his lips around his teeth and noms down on her fingers. She squeals with laughter, and Tony’s light and loose and so, so happy, and...

Bruce’s breath catches in his throat for just a second. Jim says something, and Pepper laughs, and Ari is still shrieking with delight, but that all seems so far away. Tony looks at him from across the table, and he’s relaxed the way he only can be when he’s got his niece in his arms, and Bruce aches.

 

*

 

“I love you,” Bruce whispers into the skin of Tony’s shoulder blade. It’s late, maybe two in the morning, and he hasn’t been able to sleep.

Tony’s hand slowly comes up and slips into Bruce’s hair. “I love you too,” he rumbles. He doesn’t sleep well when Bruce doesn’t sleep, almost like his body can tell that Bruce is still awake, even though Bruce doesn’t toss and turn or anything.

“I wish I could give you everything you want.”

Suddenly Tony’s incredibly awake, his heart pounding. “You do babe,” he whispers.

Bruce presses his face into the side of Tony’s neck, and Tony’s so alarmed by the hot slide of slow tears against his skin that he can’t even verbalise the  _ why, what’s wrong  _ that’s screaming through his brain. “If you say so,” Bruce mumbles. He sounds so defeated, so fucking sad, and Tony can’t think of anything to do except turn and wrap Bruce up in his arms. 

 

*

 

They’ve never discussed marriage. Bruce has dated and been in love with people before, but marriage was never something he could picture himself being into. Not after the way his parent’s relationship played out. But he sees how happy Jim and Pepper are, and sometimes he looks at Tony and he wonders. 

Like, what if...?

But they’ve only been dating for three years. They just moved in together. One thing at a time. 

 

*

 

Bruce doesn’t want to have this argument. It shouldn’t even  _ be  _ an argument. But his heart was feeling achy and tender, and Tony sometimes doesn’t know when to stop pushing, and now they’re driving back from Jim and Pepper’s vacation home and sniping at each other. 

“I just don’t fucking understand,” Tony practically snarls, “why you’re acting jealous of my fucking niece!”

“I’m not jealous!” Bruce finally snaps, his voice raising. He can feel tears welling up in his eyes, and he pinches the bridge of his nose in an attempt to fight them off. “You love her! I get it! I love her too! I want you to spend as much time with her as humanly possible, believe me.”

“Then why the fuck do you always look like you’ve swallowed a whole fucking lemon every time we go over there? What the fuck’s your problem, Bruce?”

“Because I can’t give you that, okay? And because I know how much you want it, and it just  _ hurts,  _ alright? I’ll get over it. I don’t want to fucking fight about it.”

“You can’t give me  _ what? _ ” Tony shouts. “Stop bringing me into the conversation half way through!”

“Kids, Tony!” Bruce erupts, his voice cracking so violently that Tony instinctively jerks the car to the shoulder of the road. It’s dark, and the manoeuvre was so sudden that if anyone else had been on the road with them, they’d probably be dead. But they’re alive, and they’re alone, and Bruce is falling to pieces. “I can’t give you kids, okay? And I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. We can’t even adopt because I’ve got a fucking felony on my record, and I just-- I fucked it up for you before I even met you and I just--”

He’s spiralling, but Tony’s hands on his face stop him before he can say anything else. “Bruce,” he murmurs, so soft. “Bruce, look at me. You didn’t fuck anything up. It’s okay. It’s okay, babe. I love you. I love you so much. Hey. Hey, c’mere.” Tony fumbles with their seatbelts, then sort of drags Bruce across the middle console and the gear shift until he gets him kind of in his lap. “Please don’t cry. Please. Shh, babe. Bruce, fuck, you’re okay, I’ve got you.”

Bruce shakes his head but lets Tony hold him. And then he gives voice to the one thought that’s haunted him from the very first second he saw Tony’s face, the first time Tony held Ari in his arms. “Wouldn’t you be happier with someone who could give you that future? Who you could build a family with?”

Tony’s breath stutters across Bruce’s skin, but his voice doesn’t waver. “I couldn’t even be half this happy with someone that isn’t you. Do you understand?”

“Tony--”

“Trust me,” Tony whispers. He tilts Bruce’s face up and kisses him gently on the mouth. It’s sweet with love and salty with uncertainty, but it’s perfect in the way it trembles. “I’d rather hold on to what I’ve got than chase a hypothetical. Bruce. You’re everything, okay? You’re everything.”

 

*

 

Ari’s third birthday is so adorable Bruce might actually die. They have balloons shaped like butterflies, and streamers, and fucking customised cake-pops that look like flowers. The colour scheme is full of pastels that remind Bruce of Easter, and even though there had been a lot of guests earlier in the afternoon, only Tony and Bruce are left now that Pepper and Jim’s families have cleared out.

Pepper’s in the kitchen packing away the leftover birthday cake, and all the veggies and dip. Jim is out in the yard, gathering all the patio furniture and balloons. And Tony is dancing around the living room with Ari draped over his shoulder as Bruce collects all the garbage. “My sweet paprika princess,” he murmurs as he pats her back gently. “My darling Arizona Rhodes. I love you so much I couldn't ever fit another little baby in my heart, do you know that?” He's talking specifically to her, his voice a quiet sing-song that lulls her off to nap time like nothing else. But his eyes are on Bruce. “I've only got so much room in my heart, you know? And between you and uncle Bruce, I just don't know how I could ever fit anyone else.”

Tony has always been too good to be true, really. He knows what to say more often than he doesn't, and he knows when Bruce needs reassurance, even if he doesn't always know how to give it. But right now, in these moments, Tony’s love is all consuming. Too big to contain, too big to look away from, too big to even dream of doubting. When he says  _ trust me,  _ you do. When he says  _ you're it,  _ you are. End of discussion. Game over. 

 

*

 

Tony’s pinned to the bed, Bruce in his lap and grinding down like he could do it all fucking day. His head is tossed back, his chest is heaving, and he's better than anything Tony could have ever dreamed up. 

“Fffffuck,” Bruce groans, sliding down Tony’s dick and swivelling his hips a little when he bottoms out. 

“Feels good baby? You like that?”

“Mm, yeah,” Bruce whispers before narrowing his eyes at Tony.

“Like feeling me all up deep inside you?”

“Tony, shut up,” Bruce groans, picking up the pace and slamming himself down hard. Tony sputters before moaning, his fingers curling into Bruce’s hips.

So Tony shuts his mouth, but he also stops being passive. He plants his feet on the mattress and thrusts up hard, disrupting Bruce’s rhythm and making him gasp. He doesn't have the patience to time their orgasms, wants to see Bruce come, wants to feel it around him and follow him over. Bruce isn't in the mood to really be touched today, and that’s fine, but Tony won't be able to knock him over the edge in this position, so he surges up and flips them over. He grabs Bruce behind the knees and pins his legs to his chest, then pounds in hard and fast as Bruce keens. 

It only takes a couple of minutes before Bruce is coming across his abdomen, and then Tony comes not even a minute behind him, and they pause there like that, panting. One of Bruce’s hands reaches up to brush Tony’s hair off his forehead, and the other slips down Tony’s back to grab his ass and pull him closer.

It's not possible to be any closer, but that doesn't keep him from trying.

“Wait,” Bruce whispers. “Wait, stay. Just a little longer.”

“I'm right here,” Tony pants, dropping down to press kisses all across Bruce’s brow. “I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere. You got me, Bruce. You've got me.” He doesn't pull out until Bruce’s hands go slack with sleep, and Bruce only murmurs incoherently when he does. Once his breathing evens out, and his body feels heavy, Tony rolls off to the side. He strips the condom off and tosses out towards the ensuite bathroom, and he runs his fingers feather-light over Bruce’s flank. “I’m all yours,” he whispers, and then he gets up to grab a damp cloth.


End file.
